


Better to Give

by soroga



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bath Sex, F/F, Hair Washing, No Route-Specific Spoilers, Post-Timeskip, Vaginal Fingering, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soroga/pseuds/soroga
Summary: “Hilda,” he finally says, deliberately calm. “Do you remember a conversation we had five years ago, when you were a student? About treasuring friends who do you favors, and making sure that youreturnthefavor?”Wow. Hilda sort of wishes this conversation wasn’t about Marianne, because shehasto tell someone that Seteth talked about sex with her.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 26
Kudos: 237
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Better to Give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



Marianne looks good between Hilda’s legs. 

Well – if Hilda’s being honest, she can mostly see Marianne’s cutely mussed hair, little flyaways escaping from her crown braid as she leans in for another long, slow lick, one hand holding Hilda open, the other curling below her tongue as she strokes Hilda from inside, the sweet crook of her fingers inside Hilda long past teasing now. But that’s part of what makes Marianne look so good like this, the way she presses in and stays there like she can’t get enough, the way she licks and sucks Hilda like she’s never tasted anything sweeter. Marianne’s always more open with Hilda, but she’s never more expressive than she is like this, laying open-mouthed kisses on Hilda’s clit and lips like she wants to stay there forever. 

Hilda would love if she had the staying power for that, but unfortunately, Marianne’s too good. She feels Hilda’s orgasm building just like Hilda does, and when it hits so hard that Hilda can do nothing but grab desperately at the back of Marianne’s head, Marianne pulls her through it, sucking hard on her clit and keeping her fingers deep inside Hilda, moving only the tips inside her.

“Wow,” Hilda says once she’s regained her voice, and Marianne laughs gently, finally rising up from between her legs to let Hilda see her flushed, beautiful face. A little trail of saliva or Hilda’s release follows her up before breaking onto her chin, and Marianne flushes and looks away, starting to rub at her mouth before realizing her fingers are covered in it too. 

“Aw, Marianne,” Hilda whines, grabbing Marianne’s slick hand and pulling her in for a kiss. Marianne giggles again against her mouth, and Hilda finds herself turning it into a bunch of little kisses instead, quick presses of her lips against Marianne’s like they’re students again, because she can’t decide if she wants to compliment or kiss Marianne more. “How do you,” kiss, “look so cute,” kiss, “even when you’re,” another kiss, “all messy?” This time she kisses Marianne’s chin, making sure to swipe out her tongue to get rid of whatever's there. Isn’t that what everyone’s always telling Hilda, that she should clean up her own messes? 

“You always say I’m cute,” Marianne says, drawing back to wipe Hilda’s spit off her chin with her dry hand before settling down again, her forehead pressing against the side of Hilda’s neck. Hilda shifts to wrap an arm around her, enjoying the soothing rhythm of Marianne’s warm breath against her chest and the steady pressure of Marianne’s hips rocking against her thigh, her skin so warm and smooth where it presses up against Hilda’s. 

“Um, Hilda,” Marianne mumbles into her skin. “Do you think you can…”

Oh, whoops. It’s somehow completely slipped Hilda’s mind again that Marianne might want her to lend a hand right back. “You know I’d love to, but I’m just feeling soooo wiped,” Hilda says, letting out a yawn for emphasis that quickly turns from semi-theatrical to completely real. “I’ll get you back next time, okay?”

Marianne lets out a quiet huff of laughter. Hilda considers defending her own honor, but she’s too wiped, so she just shifts her arm away so Marianne can get up. 

Hilda watches her sleepily, the elegant line of her back flexing as she reaches for a clean handkerchief, the candlelight adding a dramatic shadow to the dip of her spine and the cleft of her ass. Hilda loves looking at the curve of Marianne’s neck and shoulders, even when she’s doing something as boring as wiping her fingers clean. 

Next, Marianne will undo the chignon she’s been wearing with her crown braid the last couple years, letting the braid itself fall apart naturally. Sometimes Hilda gets up to help, kissing the back of Marianne’s neck as she combs out her hair, but she’s feeling too sleepy. Instead, she lets her eyes fall shut, but curls her arm around the space where Marianne had been so she’ll be able to slide right back into it when she comes back to bed.

And then Hilda wakes up.

It feels like she barely closed her eyes, though the room is dark now, so she at least slept through Marianne fixing her hair and blowing out the candle.

For a moment, she’s annoyed with herself. Hilda’s a champion sleeper, capable of taking naps anywhere and ignoring any level of noise; she almost never wakes up in the middle of the night. And nothing’s obviously wrong, either. The room is warm and quiet, and Marianne is a familiar weight against her side, right where she should be. 

Then Hilda realizes Marianne’s moving. Not a lot – just enough to rock the bed a little with a very distinct rhythm.

Well, Hilda’s wide awake now. 

It’s quiet enough that every sound is amazingly clear. Marianne’s never loud, but her little gasps against the pillow are so close to Hilda’s ear that they might as well be moans. Marianne is so wet that Hilda can hear it, every movement of her fingers obscenely loud. Hilda would know exactly how Marianne is fucking herself even if she couldn’t feel the flex of Marianne’s wrist against her hip.

When Marianne comes, it’s with a little “ _oh_ ,” as if this is a surprise to her. Her wrist stills where it’s pressed against Hilda; her leg, curled up enough to be half over one of Hilda’s, shakes. 

Hilda should probably say something to let Marianne know she’s awake, but she’s so caught up listening to Marianne’s sounds. Somehow, not being able to see her makes her feel even closer; Hilda can imagine the exact shape of Marianne’s mouth as she takes a deep breath in, then releases it all at once. Hilda can almost see the way her eyes must be fluttering shut, like she’s relieved. Like all the stress if leaving her body at once, because it is. 

Hilda feels Marianne’s arm moves when she takes her fingers out. She hesitates a moment, Hilda thinks, because there’s a few seconds of silence before she hears Marianne sucking her own fingers clean as quietly as she can. Then, nothing. Just Marianne’s normal breathing, as familiar and comforting as her smile or the touch of her hand. 

Hilda hears the exact moment when Marianne’s breathing deepens in sleep. Hilda stays awake a while longer, thinking.

Because the thing is, now that Hilda's taking a second to go back over it, she realizes that that might have been the first time she ever heard Marianne come.

Thinking does not go great for Hilda. Actually, maybe she should outsource this one. 

“While I’m glad that you feel comfortable coming to me with personal troubles, I’m not sure I understand what the problem is,” Seteth says, laying his fork down on his mostly-empty plate. 

“Ummmm,” Hilda says. Marianne has said before it’s fine if she talks about their sex life with friends, but Seteth seems like a slightly different kettle of fish, so she’d decided to be vague about the specifics. Everyone knows she and Marianne have been together almost six months; no one seems to have put the fact that they'd been in totally different parts of the Alliance until everyone had reunited a couple weeks ago, which makes it easy to pretend she's asking about something else. Looks like she's a little too good at that. “I just worry about making sure everyone’s happy in relationships. Any kind of relationships! Friendships, even. Anything where maybe one person ends up doing more work than the other, but it’s fine because everyone’s still getting what they want in the end, right?” 

Seteth narrows his eyes at her. Hilda smiles sweetly back.

“I thought you’d been doing much better at that lately,” Seteth says. “I even heard that when you asked Lysithea to take over your kitchen duty, you agreed to take her grounds-clearing task in return. And that you actually did it.” 

“That’s me, a pinnacle of responsibility!” Hilda says, neglecting to mention that she knew beforehand that Lysithea had been paired with Raphael, who can always be relied upon to lift all the heavy rocks without even being asked. “I’ve turned over a new leaf. But I am always trying to improve. And I wasn’t really thinking about _work_ work. More...” Hilda reaches for a metaphor and comes up blank. “Interpersonally.” 

“Interpersonally.” Seteth manages to sound like he’s chewing something he’s not sure he likes as he says it.

“Yeah! I mean, it doesn’t matter who does what as long as everyone’s needs are fulfilled, right?” 

The second it’s out of her mouth, Hilda knows she’s screwed up with the whole “vague” thing, so she hurriedly stuffs a heaping forkful of lunch into her mouth while Seteth’s eyes go wide. If she has to run, she wants to do it on a fuller stomach. (Besides, it’s really good. Lysithea’s gotten much better at cooking since she learned that not every dish could be treated like a cake.) 

Seteth doesn’t look like he’s going to go for his axe, at least. Instead, he whips his head around, scanning the whole dining hall – which is mostly empty anyway – before turning his incredulous gaze back at her.

“Hilda,” he finally says, deliberately calm. “Do you remember a conversation we had five years ago, when you were a student? About treasuring friends who do you favors, and making sure that you _return_ the _favor_?” 

Wow. Hilda sort of wishes this conversation wasn’t about Marianne, because she _has_ to tell someone that Seteth talked about sex with her. Maybe Catherine won’t ask any insightful questions about the context if Hilda brings it up when she’s drinking something. “Of course I do! And like you said, I’m doing _so_ much better. But just because someone does you a favor one way, that doesn’t mean you have to do the same exact favor back, right? Maybe just being with them can be a kind of favor!” Actually, now that she thinks about it, maybe next time she can just let Marianne know she’s awake. That’s _basically_ like doing something back. 

Seteth looks skyward, eyes closing briefly before he opens them, apparently resigned to having this conversation. “Everyone enjoys different...activities,” he says. “And you should not feel compelled to do anything you find truly distasteful. But if you are worried that someone’s...needs...are going unfulfilled, then it is time to find an activity you _are_ willing to do to them.” He winces. “Forgive me; I meant to say with them.” 

“I get it,” Hilda says. And unfortunately, she does; Seteth has voted that lying there while Marianne touches herself isn’t good enough. She needs an alternative, but she doesn’t think she’s going to get it from Seteth, who is starting to look like the worst headache of his life has descended on him. Taking pity on him, she says, “thanks, Seteth! You’re really good at giving advice. You should write a story about this or something.” 

Seteth’s headachey look gets worse. “I do not think that would be appropriate,” he says. 

Well, geez. Try to compliment a guy…

Leonie’s more helpful when Hilda joins her in the stable. Well, Leonie is in the stable, which smell very strongly of hay and farm animal. Hilda makes sure to stand outside, far enough away that none of the horses can kick up any dust onto her, when she asks, “so, Leonie. When you’re in a relationship, what do you expect from the other person? Do they have to do everything you do?” 

“Is this a House survey or something?” Leonie asks, leaning against a stall door with her tack box under one arm. Hilda wasted enough time supervising Raphael moving rocks and talking to Seteth that it’s now late afternoon, and Leonie squints out at her from the dimness of the stable, moving her free hand to block the sun, which - Hilda checks quickly - is totally necessary given exactly where Hilda's standing.

“Not exactly,” Hilda says as she scoots over a little to spare Leonie's eyes, quickly looking her over at the same time. She’s still in her riding leathers, but she’s wearing the charms Hilda and Jeralt gave her, so she’s probably not about to do anything strenuous enough that she’ll want Hilda’s help. “You can keep working! I don’t want to waste your time, I just want to chat a little.” 

Leonie shrugs, but ducks back into her horse’s stall. “You were asking me about relationships, but I'm not in one,” she shouts. 

“Really?” Hilda asks, surprised. But it makes a certain amount of sense. Leonie’s fun to hang out with, but she can’t see Leonie going through the trouble of getting dressed up for a date. Actually, she’s pretty sure Leonie only owns three outfits, and one of them is her old school uniform. 

Sure enough, Leonie calls back, “I don’t really see the point of going looking for one. It’ll happen or it won’t.” 

Huh. Eminently practical, that Leonie. “But what about when you want to...” Hilda makes a hand gesture, which of course Leonie can’t see. 

“What?” 

“Oh, fine,” Hilda sighs, walking into the stable. 

It smells even worse inside, but Hilda knew that already. She’s in the stable all the time, after all, trying to avoid touching anything while Marianne coos over Dorte and pets his nose. She even mucked out his stall once when Marianne was sick, which Hilda personally thinks is a way better demonstration of her love than anything she might or might not be doing in the bedroom.

Leonie raises an eyebrow at Hilda as she exits her horse’s stall, pulling the door shut behind her. It doesn’t creak, even though everything else in the stable creaks. Even the horses creak, constantly nickering and snorting among themselves as they shift around on their tired joints. Sometimes Hilda wonders how Leonie has time to sleep with all the maintenance work she does. 

“I was just asking what you do when you want to...” Hilda repeats her hand gesture. “Since you don’t date.” Leonie can be kind of strange, so Hilda's hoping the answer is a little more out-there than “use my hand.” 

“Oh, that’s easy,” Leonie says, totally unperturbed by this line of questioning. Seteth could learn a thing or two from her. “I have an aid I made out of a log, a pillow someone threw out, and an old saddlepad.” 

Hilda blinks. “An...aid?”

“You know, that you kind of – ” Leonie shuffles her feet apart to straddle an invisible object. “Work against.” 

“Oh. Oh! Well, I’m certainly...” Hilda struggles for a word that isn’t “appalled.” A _log_? An old saddlepad? “...impressed. I’m impressed by how inventive you can be.” 

Leonie shrugs modestly.

“Do you maybe want a nice cover for your aid?” Hilda feels compelled to ask. “Maybe something sparkly? Or even just a blanket that has never touched a horse.” 

“That’s okay,” Leonie says. “I don’t like to waste things.”

“Right.” One of the horses to Hilda’s right stamps his hoof very loudly and Hilda scoots away. In her experience, that's one of the many potential signs that a horse is about to start spraying its food everywhere, or sneezing everywhere, or any one of a thousand gross things horses like to do. “Thanks, Leonie. You’ve been a big help.” 

“Sure,” Leonie says peaceably, already turning back to her work. 

And she has been. Okay, a log is pretty weird, but Hilda gets the picture. Something firm and cylindrical, right? 

That night, after Marianne has wrung so much pleasure out of Hilda’s body that she has to pinch herself to stay awake, Hilda slouches against the headboard and takes Marianne’s hand by the wrist to clean it with her mouth, feeling a spike of pride when Marianne’s breath hitches every time Hilda flicks her tongue at the delicate skin between her fingers. When she’s done, she says, “hey, Marianne. I want to try something.” 

Marianne’s blushing so hard it goes all the way down to her chest, which is devastating enough by itself, let alone in combination with the sweet smile she gives Hilda. “Of course,” Marianne says. 

Hilda wiggles her leg between Marianne’s, planting her foot. That gets her thigh pressed right where it needs to be, and from the way Marianne’s eyes widen, it gets her point across, too. 

“Oh,” Marianne says, slightly breathless. She shifts her hips around until she’s flush against Hilda, hot and wet right against her leg. She’s _so_ pretty like this, eyes wide with anticipation, mouth red and swollen from being pressed against Hilda.

She also isn’t moving. She's just looking at Hilda. 

Hilda looks back. 

Marianne bites her lip. “Um, Hilda – I can’t...my legs can’t help with the way we are.” 

Hilda squints over Marianne’s shoulder and sees what she means. Marianne’s just a little too tall – to stay in contact with Hilda’s thigh, she’s sunk down far enough that her lower thighs are pressed against the bed, too. She can still move her hips, and as long as she keeps her hands planted on the bed she can also keep her balance, but it looks like the whole process will be more precarious and uncomfortable than it should be.

“Oops,” Hilda says. “I guess I didn’t think this one through.” Somehow she doubts this is a problem Leonie has with her log. 

Marianne’s still looking at Hilda. Hilda always likes that Marianne isn’t afraid to make eye contact with her, but right now it also means she can’t pretend not to see the way Marianne’s eyes flick down to Hilda’s leg. 

Oh no. Is _Hilda_ supposed to move _her own leg_ to make this happen? That can’t be right. She thought Marianne would do her thing and Hilda could peacefully lie there. Like a log. 

“Pillows!” Hilda shouts, panicked, before she realizes that her mouth just had a great idea without any input from her brain.

Marianne just blinks at her, but Hilda’s already curling her hands over Marianne’s hips to shift her to the side. Marianne obliges her, shifting to her side to watch Hilda lean over the edge of the bed and hunt for the extra pillows she threw off the bed not too long ago. 

Hilda manages to grab them both in one trip, and she’s pretty sure she ended up giving Marianne a show in the process, so she has to give herself a prize for both efficiency and quick thinking later. For now, she stacks one of the new pillows on top of the one that was already on the bed and shoves them under her butt. The other pillow she folds in half and puts under her foot, stomping on it a little to make sure it stays in position. Even when both stacks squash a little under Hilda’s weight, she can tell it’s going to make up for the height difference just fine. 

“There we go,” Hilda says. “I have it all figured out!” She pats her thigh. “Come on, hop back up.” 

Marianne giggles. It’s a good thing she’s so cute; it’s the only reason she gets away with laughing at Hilda so much, even if Hilda’s sure she looks a little ridiculous lying there propped up on her elbows to keep her chest level with her pelvis. But Marianne does hop back up, swinging her leg over Hilda’s thigh the same way she does to get on Dorte, before settling back down. 

The pillows do their job well enough that Marianne can scoot a little closer, hesitantly planting her hands on either side of Hilda’s ribs for balance. Hilda gives her an encouraging thumbs up and Marianne laughs, bending down even lower as she does so until her breasts brush against Hilda’s. 

Hilda’s a fan of that, and of the sight of Marianne smiling down at her, flushed and happy. She’s close enough that Hilda thinks, _maybe I can –_ before straining up to kiss Marianne. 

Hilda thinks she could kiss Marianne forever, spending a very pleasant existence drinking the laughter from her lips, getting hot all over from the way Marianne gives her tongue a lot of little licks before Hilda manages to coax her into pressing deeper, longer. 

Only it turns out she can’t, because this position is killer on her neck. She thumps back down against the mattress, making a mental note to get more pillows for next time. 

On the other hand, it’s so nice to be able to lie there and do nothing as Marianne rolls her hips. There’s nothing at all between them, and the hot, slick slide of Marianne against Hilda’s thigh is making Hilda want to reach down and rub herself, even though she just came. Hilda resists the urge, letting her eyes fall shut instead, listening to Marianne’s little gasps and sighs just like she had last night. This is _way_ better. Every time Marianne rocks forward, she rubs against Hilda’s breasts, making her shiver. Hilda can feel it every time Marianne clenches against her leg and it drives Hilda crazy. It all combines – the movement of Marianne’s body, the _noises_ she makes, the hot, wet clench of her – until Hilda can’t stand it.

She opens her eyes, but that’s even worse, seeing Marianne’s open-mouthed pleasure, the way her mouth trembles and widens even more as she gets closer. Hilda surges up again and kisses that mouth sloppily, sucking and licking at whatever part she can get as Marianne’s thrusts keep jarring her – first Marianne’s lower lip, then her chin, then she loses track. She grabs Marianne’s ass with one hand to spur her on, and that’s all it takes for Marianne to come, every clench and ripple of her pressed against Hilda’s thigh, every gasp breathed into Hilda’s lips. 

When it’s over, Marianne collapses down on Hilda, hiding her face against Hilda’s breasts. Hilda pets her hair, but Marianne is breathing on her nipple, and her body’s so primed that Hilda thinks she’ll come again within five seconds of touching her clit. Assuming she manages to touch her clit. Marianne’s leg is in the way, and Hilda’s a few seconds away from figuring out the right angle to rub up against it when Marianne slides her hand under her leg and presses her fingers hard against her. 

Hilda’s coming less than a second later, shaking through it. It feels different, coming after barely being touched, but it’s so _good_. 

Marianne rubs her through it, then wiggles her hand out from under her leg to rest against Hilda’s bare thigh instead. “Thank you,” she says into Hilda’s skin. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Marianne!” Hilda says, though she is feeling pretty pleased with herself. “I’m happy to do it any time.” 

Hilda is feeling less pleased the next morning when she wakes up with a massive pain in her neck that makes moving her head up or down a trial, but luckily, she has an in with the healer. Marianne responds to her whining with a low “my apologies...” that Hilda waves off. 

“Did it look like I hated it?” Hilda asks. “Because I really, really didn’t.” 

Marianne hides her face against the back of Hilda’s neck, which is totally ineffective because Hilda can _feel_ her smiling back there. But then Marianne drops a shy kiss on Hilda’s neck, which is accompanied with a tingling feeling like a set of unnaturally cold fingers pressing for a moment, and then Hilda’s neck is feeling much better, so Hilda decides to skip the whining and thank Marianne with a kiss instead. 

And, okay, so the next time they’re getting intimate, _maybe_ Hilda falls asleep while Marianne’s doing her thing. She doesn’t mean to! It's just that she’s trying to rest her neck, and she’s already feeling so wiped from everything Marianne did to her, so she kind of drifts off. She’s not even aware it’s happening until she wakes up the next morning to the sound of birdsong outside their window and the feeling of Marianne slipping out of her arms and out of bed. 

“Good morning,” Hilda yawns, before she realizes what point last night her memory cuts out at. “Oh, oops! Sorry. Did you not…?” She’s told Marianne she is totally welcome to keep going if Hilda falls asleep before, but she doesn’t think Marianne’s ever going to take her up on it.

Sure enough, Marianne shakes her head. “You seemed so tired,” she says. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’m awake _now_ ,” Hilda says, arranging herself as invitingly as possible. But Marianne is already slipping on her shift, so Hilda drags herself out of bed to start combing out Marianne’s hair instead. It’s not exactly a hardship – Hilda loves dressing people up, and it’s especially nice getting her hands in Marianne’s long, thick hair and getting to twist strands of it around her fingers while Marianne laughs and combs out the front – but it’s not exactly the same as _returning the favor_ in bed. 

So that’s not great. But Hilda makes sure to stay awake the next time, and the time after that, and Marianne seems pretty happy. It leaves Hilda feeling pretty satisfied. She thanks Leonie for her advice, which Leonie accepts without looking up from the boot she’s repairing or asking any troublesome questions, which Hilda always appreciates. 

Seteth is harder to find. He’s not in his office or his usual fishing spot. Flayn is there, though, sitting at the end of the little pier and untangling fishing line with her fingers. She’s a pro at it, working through knots patiently and without any fumbling, so Hilda feels no guilt about plopping down far enough away that she can’t be passed any of the line to work on. “Hey, Flayn. Where’s that brother of yours?”

“Hello, Hilda! He is counseling some of the clergy on a private matter,” Flayn says. “Doing so will most likely keep him occupied for the rest of the day.”

That’s a great one. Hilda wonders if anyone would ever believe it if she claimed to be too busy counseling people to do work the whole day. But Flayn's answer raises a totally different question. “Your big brother is finally giving you some space to breathe and you’re going to spend the day fishing?” 

Flayn blinks at her guilelessly. “What else would I be doing?” 

Hilda lets it go. Seteth’s weirdness is not her problem, and Flayn’s relationship with him is nothing like Hilda’s relationship with Holst. “I wanted to thank Seteth for helping me with a problem I was having,” she says instead. “But since he’s busy, maybe you could pass along my thanks instead.” 

“Certainly!” Flayn says. “May I ask what it is he helped you with?” 

Hilda finds herself glancing around casually to make sure Seteth isn’t lurking behind a tree somewhere. He’s usually a pretty dignified guy, but when it comes to Flayn, she wouldn’t put it past him. “Oh, you know, just boring relationship stuff.” 

“I do not find that boring at all!” Flayn abandons the fishing line entirely, swinging her legs up the pier to sit facing Hilda. “What sort of relationship ‘stuff’?” 

Oh, boy. “Well, you know, Marianne was doing all the work...planning dates!” Hilda improvises. “Planning dates that were what I wanted to do. So I figured out how to get her to plan dates that made her happy, too.” Hastily, she changes the subject. “Anyway, what do you do to your skin to give it that youthful glow? You look like you haven’t aged at all since we were students.” 

Flayn stares back at her unblinkingly. “I do nothing to my skin,” she says, then adds, just as hastily, “have you thought perhaps of being the one to plan your dates? I would think you would want to decide what you are doing some of the time as well.” 

“I guess I could...but that’s so much _work_!” Hilda whines. “And besides, Marianne’s so good at it. As long as we both enjoy ourselves, that’s what counts, right?”

“I suppose,” Flayn says. “But if I had someone whom I cared deeply for, I would also want to show them my appreciation by taking on some of the work.” 

Hilda frowns at her, but Flayn’s expression stays entirely placid. Flayn can be so hard to read; Hilda’s not sure if she’s figured out what they’re talking about or not. 

“Besides, I was under the impression that you do not mind doing work when it is for Marianne,” Flayn continues. “Did you not complete her tasks in the library despite claiming earlier that very day that you had sprained your wrist and were unable to lift anything heavier than a hair clip?”

“Flayn, come on, that’s ancient history! You can’t bring up things I did five years ago to prove your point.” 

Flayn tilts her head. “I am referring to an incident that occurred last week.” 

Hilda blinks. “Oh. Maybe!” Did she use the wrist sprain excuse last week? She can’t remember. She’s been trying harder not to wriggle out of things ever since she and the Professor had that talk about other people’s expectations, but nobody’s perfect. She does remember taking over Marianne’s library duties, though. She’d rearranged a whole section of dusty tomes while Marianne dusted behind her, occasionally sharing some of the weirder titles to make her laugh, kissing her between the shelves, grabbing her arms to keep her from tripping over stacks of books…

“That’s different, though,” Hilda says. “That’s stuff that Marianne’s bad at! Of course I’m going to help her with that. She doesn’t need my help with having – I mean, planning dates.” 

“But perhaps she wants it!” Flayn says, face shining with earnestness. “Are you only willing to help her when it is an absolute requirement? Perhaps she has been waiting for you to take the initiative this whole time.” 

She looks so perfectly innocent as she says it. Hilda _still_ has no idea if she’s figured out what they’re really talking about or not. Maybe that’s what makes her say, “but what if I’m bad at it?” 

She didn’t mean to let that slip. But looking into Flayn’s open face, she finds it all pouring out. “I help Marianne with stuff she’s bad at all the time! That’s kind of our thing – she’s super clumsy and I’m super good at things. But she’s good at this. I mean, really good. Really, _really_ good.” 

Okay, that was maybe a little more obvious than she meant to be. But Flayn just blinks at her, the doll-like stillness of her face unchanged. “Do you think Marianne only loves you because you are good at things?” 

Hilda laughs nervously. Wow, it really is the cute and innocent ones who go for the throat, isn’t it? “Obviously not.” 

Flayn nods. “I think in some ways it is very easy to be the one who is always good at things,” she says. “When one is bad at things, attempting to do them regardless is a position of vulnerability. It requires a lot of trust to put one’s self in that position.” 

“Hey, I’m plenty good at being vulnerable!” Hilda protests instinctively. Then she pauses long enough to actually think it over a bit and decides that her best option here is a strategic retreat before she can go back to being accidentally honest. “Well, anyway, great talk, Flayn. Please remember to pass along my thanks to Seteth! And hey, maybe sometime we can have a girls’ night and I can fix your hair or something.” 

Flayn touches one of her massive curls with her pale fingers. “Is something the matter with my hair?” Hilda hears her say as she hurries out of there as quickly as she can without doing anything as sweaty and unpleasant as actually running.

So that’s not great. And the more Hilda thinks about it, the guiltier she feels. She does trust Marianne! She trusts Marianne with her life, on and off the battlefield. She doesn't need to be analyzed, she just needs sex advice. But she sort of sees what Flayn was getting at. _Why_ hasn't it occurred to Hilda to _return the favor_ this whole time, and why is she working so hard to avoid doing it the obvious way? Maybe because Marianne had reached out to touch her first on their first night together, and while Hilda was lying there seeing stars she'd thought, _there's no way I'm going to be able to make her feel this good_. Hilda has no problem trusting Marianne with her body, but what about everything else? 

Marianne talks to her about her hopes and her fears. Hilda knows how much this war is wearing her down at the same time that it makes her feel like she’s finally useful. Marianne never seems to have trouble with serious emotional talks, but Hilda’s never been good about talking about that kind of thing. She can always think of too many ways someone might say something that hits her where it hurts. It's less dangerous to distract herself with something fun, using her energy making accessories or having tea parties with Marianne until whatever’s bothering her either goes away or blows up in her face. But if it’s something Marianne might want from her, is she really going to ignore _that_ until it goes away? 

Chewing it over again and again isn’t helping, so Hilda decides to take a bath instead. Relaxation is good for the body and brain, and it feels like she needs both of those things to take a break for a minute. It won't count as distracting herself with something fun if she promises to keep working on it once she's in the tub.

The bathing rooms are pretty empty this time of day, so Hilda has no problem snagging the room with the biggest tub. She does it automatically. Most people avoid the big tub. As much fun as it is to be able to spread out, it takes so many kettlefuls of water to fill up that it usually starts to go tepid before anyone gets there. But it’s no big deal for Hilda to slosh a bunch of cold water in there and then drag someone in to heat it for her with a fire spell. Besides, it’s the only one big enough to share, and Marianne loves baths too.

...oh, _duh_. 

Hilda leaves the little sign by the door flipped over to the red side to show it’s occupied and goes hunting for supplies. She finds candles in her own room, a rose in the greenhouse, and Lorenz in the garden, finishing up a cup of tea. 

“You’ll heat my bath for me, won’t you, Lorenz?” Hilda asks, eyes as wide as she can make them. “I just have _no_ skill with fire spells, and you’re _amazing_ at them.”

“That seems rather inappropriate,” Lorenz says. “Obviously neither of us would mean anything by it, but one should always attempt to avoid the appearance of impropriety.” 

Hilda nods enthusiastically. “You’re so right, Lorenz. Thanks for looking out for me. Since you put it that way, how about you go do it now? If you fill it and heat it really quickly while I’m talking to – ” she looks around. “ – to Ignatz, and then come right back out, it’ll be obvious nothing is going on.” 

“Well...I suppose...”

“Great!” Hilda says, and fishes a candle out of the bag she’s stashed them all in. “While you’re at it, could you light this for me and put it in the bathing room please?”

While Lorenz dashes off, she has a quick bite of some of the pastries he left behind to give him some time to get to the baths. Then she makes good on her word and heads over to Ignatz, daintily brushing the last of the crumbs from her mouth. 

Ignatz is a good guy, so once she secures a promise from him to get her message over to Marianne as soon as possible, he runs off to find her. That leaves Hilda free to wander her way back to the baths. 

The room looks great. The tub is nice and full and positively steaming. When she tests the temperature, it’s just a little too hot, which is perfect – it’ll take Marianne a couple minutes to get over anyway. Lorenz left the candle she gave him in a wall sconce, so she doesn’t even have to hunt around for matches to light the rest of the candles with. She spaces them out nicely around the room, creating a nice, intimate glow that makes it feel later in the day than it is. Then she plucks the petals from the rose she brought, scattering them over the surface of the water and stashing the naked stem back in her bag. Oh, right – speaking of naked…

“Um, wow,” Marianne says as she shuts the door behind herself.

“Hey, Marianne,” Hilda says cheerfully. “I thought you might like a bath.” She gets to her feet, tossing her head so that her hair falls over her shoulders, partly covering her chest. It’s the only thing covering her. 

Marianne watches Hilda approach, looking down her body for a second before she remembers herself and looks away, blushing. It’s so cute. Marianne’s seen her naked a bunch of times by now, but she still reacts like it’s the first. “I just finished training, so that would be nice. Thank you.” 

“No problem! Here, let me help you with that.” Hilda stands maybe a little too close to Marianne as she reaches out to undo the clasp holding her capelet closed. It falls to the ground and Marianne’s eyes meet Hilda’s for a second before she’s looking away again. “Let me get your dress, too,” Hilda continues, circling around Marianne. 

“Shouldn’t I take off my boots first?” Marianne asks.

Hilda considers this. “Do you want me to take off your boots too?” 

“N-no, it’s fine!” Marianne squeaks, then hastily bends to remove her boots. 

While she does that, Hilda starts in on the knot at the nape of Marianne’s neck, the one that holds the high collar of her dress tight against her. It comes apart easily, and then the back of Marianne’s neck is so pretty that Hilda can’t help but lay kisses against it, starting right under her chignon and lingering at the notch of her spine. 

“Hilda...” Marianne says.

“What?” She asks, perfectly innocent. 

Marianne straightens, smiling bashfully. “I’m done with my boots.” 

She’s too cute. Hilda has to kiss her, so she does, enjoying how Marianne buries her hands in Hilda’s hair when she kisses back. But she can’t let them get too sidetracked, so she breaks the kiss to focus on working Marianne’s gloves down and off her arms, kissing each wrist as it is bared. 

Marianne’s dress is kind of a pain to pull over her head just because there’s so _much_ of it. Hilda has smaller blankets. And then of course Hilda has to pause to fold it neatly, because otherwise it’ll get all crumpled, and Hilda’s usually the one who has to beat the wrinkles out of their clothes. But Marianne’s shift is much more fun to pull off. It slides smoothly under Hilda’s fingers, letting her feel the heat of Marianne’s skin below before she pulls it up and over. 

Then Marianne’s naked except for her stockings. It feels natural to drop down to sit on her heels to undo them. 

“Oh,” Marianne says as Hilda works her fingers between the stocking and Marianne’s thigh. Hilda looks up at her. “Um, sorry. You just look...very good there.”

Oh, right. Hilda’s face isn’t _quite_ in between her legs, but it’s pretty close. Hilda focuses on Marianne’s stockings, but she’s starting to get the idea that maybe Flayn has a point. 

Hilda rolls the stockings down Marianne’s legs, gently lifting each foot by the ankle to remove them entirely, and then dropping a kiss on the inside of each ankle just because, making Marianne's toes scrunch up. Then they’re both naked, and Hilda’s rising up to kiss Marianne again, hands rising up to her hair - 

“Oh wait, your hair!” Hilda says, breaking the kiss. “Here, let’s get it down and I’ll fix it up again after.” Marianne sometimes keeps her hair up even when she sleeps, since it can take a while to pin into place, but Hilda’s a pro at it. It takes no time at all for her to ease all the pins out of it, and then it finally falls down Marianne’s back, wavy after so long curled up against Marianne’s nape. She puts the pins carefully on top of Marianne’s dress while Marianne frees the end of her crown braid from the bit of hair it was tucked under, combing out the end enough for it to start unraveling on its own. 

Hilda gets into the water first, spreading her legs for Marianne to sit between, Marianne’s back to her front. Marianne obliges her, and Hilda hooks her chin over Marianne’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of her and the way it mixes with the smell of the rose-scented steam wafting up. The water is just right now, hot without being too much, and Marianne’s skin feels so soft under it. Hilda hugs her close, arms wrapped right above her navel, and strokes her sides with her fingers.

“Want me to wash your hair?” Hilda asks. 

“Sure,” Marianne says. Then she laughs. “I was just thinking you were going to ask that. It’s the one kind of work you ask for.”

“Hey, it’s not work!” Hilda protests, untangling herself from Marianne enough to lean over the edge of the tub and grab the soap. 

Well – it kind of is. Marianne has just as much hair as Hilda does, but Marianne’s is thicker and more prone to tangling. Plus, Marianne keeps it all twisted up for so much of the time that there are few opportunities for any loose hairs to escape except for when she's in the bath. But it’s the fun kind of work, like crafting a necklace, or making someone over. Besides, Marianne’s so obliging about it, leaning forward to let Hilda sluice water over her hair without complaint and holding sections of her hair until Hilda’s ready to get to them. 

Hilda rubs the soap into Marianne’s scalp in slow circles before working the bar down the length of hair she’s holding. She didn’t think to get special soap, so it's by a stroke of luck that the bar in her hand has lavender flowers, Marianne’s favorite, pressed through it. 

She gabs while she’s working on Marianne’s hair, of course. Hilda can’t help it; she’s a talker. But Marianne never seems to mind, so it works out. Hilda has to keep herself from talking with her hands while she’s working through a little snarl near the base of Marianne’s neck, since she’s busy doing something and Marianne can’t see it anyway, but she thinks her impression of the obnoxious knight she’d run into earlier that day is pretty perfect even without it.

She runs out of hair to wash before she runs out of things to say, but she’s still managed to avoid saying anything important. Well, now’s as good a time as ever. “Anyway, Marianne, I was thinking,” she says. “That I should...” she puts her hand on Marianne’s inner thigh and barely manages to keep herself from wincing. Wow, she is _not_ smooth right now. But Marianne doesn’t say anything, so she keeps babbling anyway. “I mean, you do all the work all the time! I was thinking I should sometime. I don’t want you to think I hate touching you or anything.” 

“I don’t think that,” Marianne said. 

Oh. “Really?” 

Marianne shrugs, sending little ripples through the water. “You always say when you don’t like doing something,” she says. “Everyone else wants to be nice, so they say I’m not a burden even when I am. It makes it hard to know when they’re honest. But you always say right away if something bothers you, so if you say it doesn’t, I know I can trust that.” 

“Aw, Marianne.” Hilda cuddles up against her back again, angling her head to kiss the side of Marianne’s neck. “But, wait. Are you saying I’m not nice?” 

Oh look, Marianne’s laughing at her again. Story of her life. But it never feels bad when it’s Marianne. 

“You’re very nice,” Marianne says, reaching back to cup the side of Hilda’s face. “This is very nice.”

Hilda’s too busy having a revelation to respond. What has she been worrying about this whole time? That she’ll be as bad at this as she was practicing with her axe as a kid, once again disappointing someone she can’t stand to disappoint? It’s _Marianne_. As long as Hilda tries, she’s not going to get disappointed with Hilda; she’ll just laugh at her. And Hilda never, ever minds it when Marianne laughs. 

“Marianne,” Hilda says, “lean back against me, okay?” 

“Of course,” Marianne says, and then, “oh,” when Hilda kisses the side of her neck again, this time lingering longer. Hilda’s hand shifts up to Marianne’s hip to anchor her as Hilda keeps kissing whatever parts she can reach – more of Marianne’s lovely neck, the shell of her ear, the curve of her shoulder. Hilda even manages to suck on the dip of her collarbone, though it involves more neck-craning than is really smart. Whoops. Well, Marianne’s very good at healing Hilda’s neck by now.

Hilda’s free hand finds one of Marianne’s in the water and brings it back to her lips. “Marianne,” she says, kissing Marianne’s wrist all over again. Scraping her teeth lightly against the jut of her wristbone. “My Marianne.” 

“My Hilda,” Marianne sighs as Hilda nuzzles her palm. 

Hilda lets Marianne’s hand go, moving her fingers over Marianne’s side instead. She smooths both hands over Marianne’s ribs, enjoying the way Marianne shivers. And then, of course, she _has_ to touch Marianne’s breasts. She cups them in her hands, squeezing, enjoying the way they fill her palms. She pushes them up a little as she massages them, then gets distracted by how hard Marianne’s nipples are. She thumbs them, moving them around in little circles, hearing the way Marianne’s breath catches when she rubs them hard. 

“Marianne,” she says again, pressing her mouth to the shell of Marianne’s ear. “You know, every time I see you take off your dress, there’s this second where I see your chest for the first time all day and I have to think, ‘Hilda, save it for when you’re both in bed,’ because I really don’t want to keep my hands to myself.”

“You don't have to,” Marianne says breathlessly. She clutches at Hilda’s forearm – not stopping her, just grabbing, like she needs something to hold onto. “You’re, um – you’re very good with your hands. I always like when you touch me like this.” Her ass grinds against Hilda, which is how Hilda knows she’s rubbing her thighs together under the water. 

Hilda has other plans in mind, so she reaches down with one hand. Marianne’s thighs part for her instantly, and Hilda doesn’t let herself overthink it – she just starts rubbing. It’s not so different from doing it to herself, except it’s a million times better, feeling Marianne’s folds with her fingers, hearing Marianne’s sharp gasp. 

“Do you like when I touch you like this?” Hilda asks. “I should’ve before. I was being dumb about it.” 

“Yes,” Marianne gasps. “I mean – yes, I l-like it a lot.” Hilda’s still rubbing Marianne’s breast at the same time that she teases Marianne’s hole with her fingertips, and Marianne throws her head back against Hilda’s shoulder. “It’s my fault too – I know you always fall sleep after you come, but I always want to touch you so much – ”

“Marianne,” Hilda says, touched, and also so, so turned on. She rubs herself against Marianne’s ass, at the same time grinding her thumb against Marianne’s clit. And Marianne’s neck is _right there_ , so Hilda attacks it with her mouth, sucking on Marianne’s pulse point and feeling the moan that reverberates through Marianne’s throat. 

She wishes she had six hands. She’s touching Marianne all over, and she thinks she's doing a pretty good job of it, but it’s not enough. 

She slides two fingers into Marianne at once. Marianne’s so wet and open that she takes them all the way in at once, like she’s been waiting for them. Hilda slips in a third, and that’s just right; Marianne clenches so hard around them, moaning again. 

Hilda crooks her fingers up, pressing the heel of her hand against Marianne’s clit at the same time as she strokes her from the inside. She licks at Marianne’s neck mindlessly, squeezing Marianne’s breast more by happy accident than by design at the same time, so overwhelmed by how amazingly wet Marianne is inside. “You’re so strong,” she mumbles against Marianne’s neck, and she means it; the way Marianne squeezes her fingers so hard makes her throb. It makes her feel like she’s losing her mind. 

She thrusts her hand faster, fingers fucking into Marianne, her other hand making its own path over Marianne’s chest, stroking whatever it can reach, her movements so abrupt that she sloshes water over the edge of the tub. She’s too caught up to kiss anymore, but her mouth stays open against Marianne’s neck, tongue pressed up against her skin. 

Marianne’s orgasm catches her by surprise, rippling around her fingers, a series of constant clenches that grips her tight. She falters, but Marianne gasps, “keep – ” and Hilda gets it. She keeps fucking her through it, rocking her hand in that same rhythm until Marianne goes completely limp, finally letting go of Hilda’s other arm. 

Hilda takes her fingers out gently, letting them rest on Marianne’s thigh instead. She also finally pulls her tongue back in her mouth and her mouth off of Marianne’s neck. Maybe all the licking was weird, but Marianne doesn’t seem like she’s about to start complaining, not when she’s snuggling even closer to Hilda. Hilda's going to call this one a success. 

On the other hand, her hips keep shifting against Marianne without any input from her brain. She’s so turned on she thinks she could probably come just by rubbing against Marianne’s ass a few more times, but… “we should probably get out of the water before we do anything that’ll knock me right out, huh? I did promise to do your hair up.” Also, if she falls asleep in the tub, she knows Marianne will leave her in there until she gets all pruney and gross. 

“Um, Hilda...” Marianne says. Her wet hair is a curtain between them, but Hilda can tell she’s ducking her head down, like she’s embarrassed. The rest of her words come out in a mumble. “When I touch myself, usually I go twice. Or, um, three times.” 

“Mari _anne_ ,” Hilda gasps, delighted. “Really? I always need a break in between! –Well, you know that, but I mean even if I _didn’t_ fall asleep.” She inches her hand back between Marianne’s legs. “Come on. Or, wait – turn around.” 

“You really don’t have to,” Marianne says as she turns in Hilda’s arms. “You already did a lot.” She nearly stumbles over Hilda’s leg and grabs the tub on either side of Hilda’s shoulders for balance, caging Hilda in. 

“I know I don’t have to,” Hilda says, watching the water bead down Marianne’s breasts as she rises up on her knees over Hilda. “But come on, Marianne, don’t you know? I don’t mind doing more when it’s you.”


End file.
